Eight
by MilesToNowhere
Summary: "You think you have won, don't you? But look around you... Where are all of your allies now, Potter? What's happened to your precious Hogwarts?"
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: Everything but the plot belongs to J.K. Rowling... Obviously._

A picture in the room spoke to him; an eerie voice that filled the room and caused all of the other paintings on the walls to shudder. It told him to pick himself up. What was he doing lying on the floor when there were things to be done? When there were people to be caught and revenge to be gained? When he should be killing?

He wasn't entirely sure if it was his imagination or if the picture was actually moving. No matter. It was right. He couldn't just sit there all day and feel sorry for himself. He slowly picked himself up, the ground feeling unsteady below his feet.

"Nagini?" he whispered out into the darkness. A few creaks echoed throughout the old house but, other than that, there was no reply.

He looked down to his hand. Where was his wand? He felt sick. He felt dizzy. He dropped back to the floor and took a few deep breaths. What had happened?

He tried to remember what had happened before his soul had apparated through one of his mother's old necklaces. Luckily, Lucius had kept a vial of the Potter boy's blood handy and had been at the house just in time for his arrival. He had waved Lucius off after the spell had taken its affect. He did not want to be seen as weak by someone as worthless as him. He regretted it now. He could have asked the wizard what had happened because he had no recollection whatsoever.

The last thing he remembered was killing Potter. Had they won the war? If so, why had he been killed? Had he been killed? He gripped his head as pain throbbed through his skull. He gritted his teeth and a groan sounded through his throat.

Nothing was making sense.

He stood again, this time more steady on his feet. The dizziness had vanished but the sick feeling still resided in his stomach. He had a horrible feeling that not everything had gone to plan.

He looked back at the picture that had spoken to him but now it was still. So were all the others. Maybe he had imagined it. He shook his head; of course he had. This was a muggles house. Those disgusting creatures would probably have a heart attack if they saw a painting move.

He walked out of the room and up the stairs, stopping every few steps as that sick feeling swelled in his belly. He finally made it to the stairs and started his painful and pathetic crawl up them.

He felt empty. His mind ran through all the options why and he finally settled on the reason that it was because he was down to his last few horcruxes. He thought it was strange that he couldn't feel them anywhere in the world but shook his mind off it. He was just feeling ill after having died.

He sat on the landing at the top of the stairs for a few moments until he gained the energy to stand again. He walked into one of the rooms and took a look in the wardrobe. He couldn't walk around in his cloak when he was so weak and his memory couldn't recall anything. He changed into a suit, skipping over the jeans and t-shirts, and looked around the room for something to cover his face. He found a scarf and a hat in the woman's wardrobe. He hesitated for a second before slipping them on. He didn't have the luxury of being fussy over clothes.

He looked down at his feet and found, to his surprise, that he wasn't wearing any shoes. Had he ever worn shoes? He sighed at his own incompetence to remember even that simple thing as he put on some shoes. They were a size too small.

He called once more for Nagini and when the reply was again silence, he left the house. The snake must have still been in the Forbidden Forest. Bellatrix would take care of her. She had her uses.

He found himself on a street. He looked around and was happy to see that no muggles were spoiling his view. However, he had enough sense to pull the scarf up over his mouth and nose.

He knew where he was. He was at the Potter household. The last place they would have thought he'd hide a horcrux. He wasn't sure if they even knew about the eighth horcrux. He wasn't at all happy that he had made it, it had ruined his plan to only create seven. However, he had thought it was better to be safe than sorry. And after the Potter boy had destroyed so many of the others, he figured that he should.

He looked around him once more.

He needed to find a wand.


	2. Chapter 2

The world was a lot different than he had previously thought. He didn't know how to explain it. But the faint smell of magic in the air had him looking around every corner he passed and keeping a hand to his face to stop the scarf from falling. He was in a vulnerable position. He could not afford to be caught.

Eventually the paranoia caught up with him and he walked into a little muggle café. He just needed to relax his thoughts. But his thoughts refused to listen to reason and his eyes darted around, looking at the face of every man and woman in the café. Who were muggles and who were wizards? Who knew about him?

And then his eyes rested themselves on the newspaper in front of him.

It read The Daily Prophet.

He froze. For a second, he thought he had imagined it but, running his eyes over it again, he could see the pictures moving and faint voices coming from the written interviews. He felt ill. He glanced at the date. 2020.

He looked up from the paper and became aware of the waitress standing over his table.

"Would you like a drink, sir?"

He didn't answer. Two decades had passed since he had defeated the boy? Over twenty years? But, if the dark side had won, why were muggles running their own little coffee shops? And why was The Daily Prophet just lying around for anyone to read?

"Are you okay, sir?"

He stood up, grabbed the paper and left the café. He couldn't stand to be around _those _people. They disgusted him and he refused to talk to them.

He was half a street away from the café when he came across a bench. He sat down and opened the paper.

**_A New Age for Magic Kind_**

_By Georgie Kindle_

_The five year struggle between muggles and wizards has come to an end with an agreement between the minister of magic and the mayor of London that magic folk deserve the same rights as regular humans. And things couldn't be better._

_As we all know, since the terrible reign of Tom Riddle (otherwise known as Voldemort), muggles have had a rather pessimistic view of our kind. Not that we can blame them. We all had our own trouble during the Second Wizarding War. But even after the death of Riddle, magic folk have been subject to the scrutiny of muggles._

_However, over the past few years, there have been meetings between Harry Potter (who works in the Defense department at the ministry of magic), the minister of magic and several others with the members of parliament and, last Tuesday, we were lucky enough to be informed that magic will now be accepted amongst muggles and that prejudice against magic will be treated the same as any other type of prejudice. _

_We are all looking forward to a wonderful and bright future here at The Daily Prophet and we hope to bring you more good news as the fight for Magic Rights continues on._

He folded up the paper and sat on the bench with his jaw clenched. Harry Potter was alive. There was some kind of peace treaty between muggles and wizards. He felt bile rise in his throat and he wanted to scream in anger.

They had won the war.

They thought he was dead.

…

They must have gotten all of the horcruxes.

He stopped his train of thought and his eyes widened. The paper crinkled in his fists and anger flooded his soul.

They had killed Nagini.


End file.
